


Headlong Into The Abyss

by Jenetica



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Hannibal, Cannibalism, Domestic, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Murder, Smut, Top!Will, first time in these positions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-01
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-13 16:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenetica/pseuds/Jenetica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never thought it possible," Hannibal wondered aloud. "People like me, psychopaths and our ilk, we do not feel emotions the way normal people do. I certainly can never feel anything the way you feel it. My life, up to this point, has been a game of survival, a test of how far I can push humanity before it pushed back." </p><p>First-time-bottom!Hannibal, fluff, and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Headlong Into The Abyss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lyledebeast](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Lyledebeast).
  * Translation into Polski available: [W otchłań na oślep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/946771) by [Cirelly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cirelly/pseuds/Cirelly)



> A/N: Hello! This fic is dedicated to the lovely Lyledebeast on FF.net, who discussed with me the possibility of Hannibal bottoming for Will. It was a totally alien idea to me- my idea of their relationship is very specifically dominant!Hannibal and submissive!Will- but I warmed up to his/her (dude, what is your gender?) reasoning and now I've got this massive thing typed out. It's very different from what I intended, but I'm so in love with the idea of domesticity in their relationship, so this fic centers a lot on that. I hope you guys like it!
> 
> Title from "Headlong Into The Abyss" by We Are Augustines.
> 
> EDIT: This fic was edited by the awesome RevDorothyL on FF.net. I made a ton of little mistakes and she oh-so-kindly pointed them out for me. :)

Hannibal Lecter had always prided himself on his ability to be perfectly normal, though his lifestyle suggested he shouldn’t be. At night, he hunted and killed people to carve them up and eat them, and he did so remorselessly. During the day, however, he was an accomplished psychiatrist and a consultant for the FBI. No one in his life suspected that he would ever be a cold-blooded murderer; in fact, he was considered one of the least likely people to be able to commit such atrocities. 

Most of Hannibal’s safety as serial killer came from his talent at affecting complete averageness. He was, to most of the world, a sharp psychiatrist with a knack for using just the right shock value to stun his patients back into health.

And what his normalcy couldn’t cover, his family did. Hannibal didn’t have a conventional family—he lost his many years ago to cruelty and desperation—but it certainly wasn’t a dysfunctional one. He had “adopted” a daughter when he welcomed Abigail Hobbs into his life. Though she was old enough to live on her own, she enjoyed living with Hannibal and even helped him hunt, on occasion. Her sincere, intelligent demeanor hid her ruthlessness very well and, though she wasn’t a psychopath, she had great promise to follow in Hannibal’s footsteps.

Will entered his life both before and after Abigail did. Will Graham was a criminal profiler with the FBI who had an amazing ability to see into the minds of murderers (though Will always reminded Hannibal that he could see into _anyone’s_ mind, it was just that the minds of criminals actually earned him money), but his gift had, over time, mutilated his sanity. Hannibal had met Will when he joined Jack Crawford’s behavioral sciences unit; Hannibal had originally been brought in to help the unit with the Minnesota Shrike (which, incidentally, allowed him to meet Abigail), but he found himself much more interested in the man leading the investigation than the man causing it. 

Will was a spectacular sort of person, much like Hannibal. The best way to describe Will’s gifts was complete empathy, but Hannibal had always hated how romantic the term sounded. Will didn’t _empathize_ with the murderers, he fell into them. They unwillingly provided a skin that he could step into and wear like a bodysuit, stepping their steps and thinking their thoughts.

He fascinated Hannibal. So, when Will shot Garret Jacob Hobbs and developed PTSD, Hannibal immediately offered his services, free of charge. He called their sessions “conversations” to put Will at ease—for the younger man hated being psychoanalyzed—and, by asking those perfect, shocking questions of his, he learned everything he could about Will Graham. 

It took Hannibal a surprisingly short amount of time to develop a rapport with the profiler. Despite Will’s claims to hate being around people, he opened up to the psychiatrist easily. Hannibal liked to take that personally. They talked about many things. Usually, it was Will’s mental anguish and how he coped with such trauma that led their conversations, but sometimes the younger man discussed his life before the FBI: growing up in Louisiana, discovering his gifts in middle school, falling in love with his best friend in college, suffering a massive heartbreak when that best friend pushed him away for being “too weird.” Hannibal had to consciously stop himself from asking for this best friend’s name so he could eat the girl’s tongue for such blasphemy. Will was not “weird,” he was magnificent. Obviously.

It took Hannibal weeks to recognize his attraction to Will as sexual, and it took him even longer to figure out what to do about it. He was a serial killer, a psychopath, and a cannibal. That didn’t make for light first-date talk. Ironically, he ‘came out’ accidentally, when he cracked one too many cannibalism puns to brush off.

“Okay, Hannibal, I get it,” Will sighed, “we’re eating people. Get over it.” 

Hannibal was rendered speechless for the rest of the meal. Abigail, who had moved in a few weeks previously, was similarly shocked. Will laughed in their faces.

“Oh, come on, Hannibal. I’m an empath. I read too much into everything, it’s my _job_ ,” Will said. “Now are we going to have dessert, or should I just go now?”

Now that Will _knew_ , the very last thing Hannibal wanted was to let him go. They cleared the table and had dessert, a gorgeous raspberry-infused crème brûlée. Hannibal’s utter relief made the dessert taste even better than it did usually, and he made sure to savor it.

Will left shortly after, hugging Abigail lightly and giving Hannibal a shy peck on the cheek, and thus their relationship had begun.

Will and Hannibal took things slowly. Hannibal wanted to make sure Will knew what he was getting himself into, and Will wanted to get inside Hannibal’s head before he let the older man into his heart. Besides, they were comfortable with each other on a platonic level and enjoyed talking to each other so immensely that sex felt like an unnecessary perk to their otherwise happy relationship. 

As their relationship developed, their talks became more and more personal. They would sit in Hannibal’s study and talk about love and loss, sipping fingers of scotch to help keep the conversation fluid. Hannibal shared the story of his sister’s death. Will showed Hannibal a scar on his hip from where Matt Nicholson, the school bully, tried to “beat the weird out of him.” Hannibal again forced himself to not kill the demons of Will’s past.

Their discussions turned to sex rather quickly. Will confessed that he had only been with a man once, and it had been a mistake he wished he could take back. He had dated women almost exclusively, but all of them had been unable to handle his night terrors and peculiar idiosyncrasies, in the end. Hannibal admitted that he, too, had experimented sexually, but he had always preferred the company of men to women. Men allowed him to be rougher, he explained, and he was a rough lover. 

Will had grown quiet at that, and Hannibal assumed he had made the younger man uncomfortable. That was, until Hannibal saw how dilated Will’s pupils had become. 

They made love hurriedly that night, the chemistry and tension they had been cultivating overcoming their desire to take things slow. Hannibal had fucked Will into the leather sofa, attempting to restrain himself until Will had threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t “fuck him like a man.”

Will decided to spend the night, too sated and sleepy to go home, and Hannibal lent him a pair of pajama pants to wear. Normally, Hannibal slept nude, but he didn’t want to overwhelm Will with intimacy too soon.

Plus, seeing Will in his clothes filled Hannibal with a lustful, primal sense of pride. He’d be sure to have Will wear more of his things when he came over.

Will didn’t have a single nightmare that night, and he woke up more rested than Hannibal had ever seen him. The younger man was shocked when he realized that he slept for six uninterrupted hours. Hannibal was so happy to see that their relationship was affecting Will so positively that he kissed him until they were both breathless and hard.

“Shower?” Will suggested.

“I must admit, I am feeling rather dirty,” Hannibal replied, eyes twinkling.

“Always with the puns,” Will teased, mock-rolling his eyes.

They stood and made their way to Hannibal’s en suite bathroom, sharing light banter. They undressed each other, reveling in each other’s nakedness the way they hadn’t been able to last night. Will was too thin, just as Hannibal had always known, but his body was still beautiful. Nevertheless, Hannibal swore to himself that he would endeavor to fatten Will up a little in the future. A warm flush filled him at the thought: they would have a future together, this wayward cannibal and his broken empath.

They cleaned each other sensuously, rubbing at each other’s skin perhaps a little bit more than necessary. Will marveled at how smooth Hannibal’s back felt, and he spent several long minutes caressing it with his hands and mouth. Hannibal pushed Will against the wall and claimed his mouth, reaching down a hand to stroke Will’s erection.

“Wait,” Will gasped, grasping Hannibal’s wrist, “don’t.”

Hannibal took a step back. “Why?” he asked, confused.

“Because of this,” Will responded, dropping to his knees and enveloping Hannibal in his mouth. 

Hannibal shuddered in surprised delight, hands tangling themselves in Will’s sopping hair, as the younger man bobbed on his cock. Will wasn’t experienced and it was obvious, but it made Hannibal even more aroused, affection and possessiveness dueling for dominance in his chest.

Will moaned onto Hannibal’s cock, sending sharp waves of pleasure all the way out to the older man’s fingertips. Hannibal opened his eyes—he had shut them when the sight of Will on his knees was too much to handle—and nearly lost himself in arousal. Will had slipped a hand down his torso and was tugging at his own cock, the purpling head peeking out on every downstroke.

“Will,” Hannibal purred, fingers petting over Will’s hair, “my sweet Will, so beautiful.”

Will looked up at him, eyes nearly black with lust, his hand moving faster on his cock now, and that was it. Hannibal came with a deep groan, chastising himself for not warning the younger man even as he thrilled in the sensation of Will swallowing around him.

The younger man gasped, Hannibal’s softening cock still in his mouth, and Hannibal realized that he was coming, reaching release from the sheer pleasure of satisfying his lover. Hannibal’s cock gave a painful, happy twitch, and he drew Will up into his arms to kiss him. Hannibal could taste himself on Will’s tongue and sucked the appendage into his mouth, trying to memorize the heady flavor before it vanished.

Then Hannibal remembered that Will was properly his, and he didn’t have to memorize anything anymore. He wished he had the stamina of an eighteen year old so he could fuck Will in his exaltation; now that he had the younger man, he wanted to own him completely, to be owned back, and to bask in their mutual ownership of each other.

He wasn’t eighteen, however, and neither was Will, so he contented himself by sucking a light hickey onto Will’s collarbone. That was ownership enough for now.

The water was rapidly growing cold, so the two men rewashed themselves briskly and turned off the water before it got too icy. Hannibal passed Will a towel and began buffing water off his body with another.

“You have monogrammed towels?” Will snorted. “Of course you do.”

Hannibal chose not to dignify this with a response. He instead walked into his room and picked out two pairs of boxer shorts, tossing one to Will.

The younger man donned the clothing quickly, the material bagging slightly due to his scrawny frame. The sight reminded Hannibal that he had promised himself to feed the other man to health, and he got dressed in a hurry, his mind racing with nourishing meals.

He had to make them light at first, so as to not upset Will’s underused digestive system. Perhaps a fennel and asiago quiche, for today. He buttoned up his waistcoat and turned to find Will watching him with the towel still in his hand, his damp hair a mess of spikes and curls. Hannibal shifted, raising an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on by watching someone put clothes _on_ ,” Will breathed, eyes never leaving the buttons of Hannibal’s vest.

“Perhaps you just haven’t been watching the right people,” Hannibal commented, taking the towel from Will’s hand.

“Perhaps I haven’t,” Will spoke softly. Hannibal closed his eyes briefly, a foreign, unmistakable feeling seeping into his bones. _Too soon_.

He hung the towel on a hook in the bathroom and guided Will down to the kitchen, desperately trying to tamp down on the feeling _no-not-yet-wait-for-it_ lingering heavily in his chest.

Abigail was waiting for them in the kitchen, a cup of steaming coffee grasped tightly in her hand. 

“Mazel tov,” she said dryly. “We should really invest in soundproofing.”

Will completely froze and the color bled from his face. He made several inarticulate sounds, looking between Hannibal and Abigail frantically. “I-huh?” he managed.

Hannibal chuckled, the sound deepening until he was full-out laughing. Abigail was smiling openly, now, but Will still looked flabbergasted, which made everything funnier.

Hannibal finally calmed himself. “I’ll make a note of it,” he told Abigail seriously.

She cracked a grin. “Good. Tell me you left me some hot water.”

“… You might want to wait a few minutes,” Hannibal confessed, his eyes crinkling. 

“Ew. Just stop, please,” Abigail moaned, scrunching her nose up. 

Will unfroze at last. “I can help install soundproofing, if you want. I had to do it at home because of the dogs,” he mumbled, blushing.

“Thank you, Will,” Abigail said graciously, taking pity on the man. “That would be very nice.” She took her cup to the sink, kissed her surrogate father on the cheek, then did the same to Will.

“Welcome to the family,” she declared. “I’m going to be in my room. If you need me, Hannibal, just let me know.”

With that she strode away, leaving the two men standing in shocked silence.

“That settles it, then,” Hannibal said, breaking the silence. “Coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Will croaked. Hannibal poured two cups of liquid caffeine from the French press, handing one cup to Will.

Will took a large gulp of his drink. “Thanks,” he smiled warmly, color beginning to return to his face. “I needed that.”

“Abigail can be abrupt at times,” Hannibal acknowledged. “Best not to let it linger in you. She means well, and that’s all that matters. Besides, We were rather vocal last night.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed, looking down at his shoes to hide his blush. “Well, can’t help yourself sometimes.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Hannibal responded, smiling faintly. “Right,” he continued, clapping his hands and rubbing them together, “time for breakfast." 

“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” Will denied. “I only usually have a cup of coffee.”

“Yes, and you’re far too thin,” Hannibal argued. “You can either help me by grating the cheese or you can sit and watch.”

Will considered this for a moment. “I can help,” he offered. “But I have no idea how to cook, so you’ll have to show me what to do.”

“It’s simple, really,” Hannibal assured him, pulling out a large hunk of asiago and his cheese grater. “All you do is put the cheese against the grater and rub like this, see?” 

Will looked apprehensive, but he nodded. “Sounds easy enough. How much should I grate?”

“Oh,” Hannibal thought for a moment, “about two cups worth ought to do it.”

Will set off grating cheese and Hannibal began mixing eggs, cream, and pepper. He heard a quiet gasp a second later and looked over his shoulder. Will was holding his right hand up to his chest, grimacing.

“What is it?” Hannibal asked, walking over.

“I grated my knuckles,” Will joked, showing his bloodied hand to the older man. Hannibal took the injured appendage in his hands and looked at it closely. 

“I have a first aid kit in the bathroom. Follow me.”

He led Will to the first floor bathroom, taking his kit out of the mirrored cabinet and perusing its contents.

“This will sting, briefly,” he warned Will, ripping open a gauze soaked in peroxide. Will hissed when Hannibal began cleaning his wounds, but did not flinch away. Hannibal bandaged Will’s knuckles efficiently, kissing the fabric bandages when he was done.

“All better,” he promised, smiling down at Will. “Let’s get back to the quiche, shall we?”

The rest of breakfast passed without incident. Abigail joined them when she began to smell food cooking in the oven.

“Quiche?” she asked, coming into the kitchen. “With fennel and… is that the asiago?”

“Very good,” Hannibal praised. “I have been teaching her to cook,” he explained to Will. “She is a fantastic protégé.”

“So she didn’t grate her fingers into the cheese?” Will asked, grinning self deprecatingly.

“Oh, you didn’t, did you?” Abigall laughed. “I don’t think I’ve had criminologist before. Might be kinda tasty.”

Will stuck his tongue out at her. Hannibal was surprised: not only was Will comfortable with cracking jokes about cannibalism, but he also resorted to playground fighting methods about them. It was a strangely endearing combination on the usually distressed man.

They small talked until the quiche was ready, then sat down and enjoyed their meal. Will loved the quiche, eating well over his third of the dish. Hannibal didn’t mind in the least: a few more weeks of that kind of eating, and Will might just be healthy. Abigail shot him a look, clearly thinking along the same lines, and Hannibal appreciated not for the first time how lucky he was to have adopted a daughter so similar to himself.

Will had to drive all the way back to Wolf Trap to feed his dogs and put on a fresh set of clothes, so he left shortly after breakfast. He returned Abigail’s kiss on the cheek, making her blush prettily, and gave Hannibal a decidedly longer goodbye before driving away.

Hannibal and Abigail cleaned up in silence, him washing the dishes and her drying them.

“You really like him, don’t you?” she asked him quietly. He didn’t respond. 

“Good,” she declared. “I do, too.”

Hannibal looked over at her, amazed. He lived his whole life avoiding people because he found them repugnant and mundane. How wrong he was.

“Thank you, Abigail,” he replied softly. He didn’t trust himself to say more.

Over the next week, Will spent more and more time at the Lecter household, until Abigail cried, “Just move in, already!”

Two days later, he arrived with two duffel bags full of clothes.

Their lives were simple, peaceful, but stimulating nonetheless. Abigail often monopolized the conversation at dinner, chattering away about colleges she was looking into and books she wanted to read. Other times, Will shared with them the latest serial killer he was hunting. Whenever the killer in question ended up being the Chesapeake Ripper, Will got a darkly amused twinkle in his eye. He had been giving the Behavioral Sciences unit red herring after red herring, claiming that the Ripper was just too complex to understand fully, to protect Hannibal from the FBI.

He was growing up to be quite the little deviant. Hannibal loved it.

Sometimes, rarely, Hannibal would share stories of his time in Europe. Will and Abigail would listen raptly, asking him question after question. It was pleasant, cathartic, even, to discuss his early years. He spent so long conflicted and alone that returning to the memories felt foreign now that he had a family to call his own. Will had taken his tribulations hard, his gifts forcing him to relive Hannibal’s suffering over and over again. The profiler tried to hide it, but he would whimper Mischa’s name in his sleep and awake soaked and terrified.

Hannibal confronted him about it and explained how he learned to handle his grief. Granted, turning against humanity was not perhaps the _best_ method of coping with such trauma, it helped for him. And, if it helped for Hannibal, it would help for Will. Thus was the nature of an empath.

In this usual fashion, Will fell headlong into the abyss of Hannibal’s twisted logic. He volunteered to go on the next hunt, his eyes passionate and determined to make his second-hand memories go away. Hannibal vehemently protested, not wanting to sully the lingering innocence of Will’s soul, but the younger man insisted, and Abigail was thrilled. How could Hannibal refuse his family?

The recipes he had laid out for this week required kidneys, two filets, and several pounds of loin, among other, more trivial bits of flesh. They would only need to kill one person (killing two was risky and conspicuous), but this person would need to be very healthy and strong.

Eventually, they found their prey, a young woman with a soft, fit physique and a cold, disparaging attitude. She was perfect.

They trailed her home one night after she walked out on her date. It was easy to catch her unawares, as it often was with cocky, self-entitled people. Abigail and Hannibal had allowed Will to kill the woman with a deft slice to the neck. Abigail watched the blood spurt from the woman, a hand unconsciously coming up to play with her flowered scarf. Hannibal hugged her and whispered in her ear, “You were beautiful, laid out like that, my sweet Abigail. But you are so much _more_ beautiful now, choosing to lie in the blood at your feet instead of falling into it.”

She smiled up at him, love and confidence sparkling in her eyes. “Thank you, Hannibal.”

Will walked over to them, blood splattered all over his front, triumphant. “I did it,” he pronounced, grinning at them both. He walked over to Hannibal to murmur into his neck, “And I want you to fuck me so hard I won’t be able to walk tomorrow.” 

Hannibal’s pants tightened. “I will, don’t you worry,” he promised darkly. “When we get home.”

Will nodded, body tense, and moved back to let Hannibal and Abigail do their work. They moved economically, Hannibal removing the tissue while Abigail wiped it clean and bagged it. When they were finished, Hannibal constructed the crime scene (Will watched him fervently, finally getting to watch the Chesapeake Ripper’s design in action) and picked up the packages of meat. The family of killers made their way back to Hannibal’s car, talking amicably about how Jack’s team would clean up the mess they had just created. 

Driving home, however was anything _but_ amicable. Abigail was on her smartphone, listening to music and playing some sort of videogame. Hannibal found her obsession with technology to be distasteful, but he would not deny her the vices of her generation.

Will kept sending Hannibal heated glances, hands twitching in his lap. Hannibal wasn’t surprised at all when a hand made its way over to his thigh, though he was increasingly captivated by its light, teasing touches.

Hannibal shifted slightly closer, subtly enough that Abigail would not notice the movement, but perceptively enough that Will would see how affected Hannibal was becoming. The hand ventured higher, brushing lightly over the bulge forming in Hannibal’s trousers, and the older man breathed deeply to refocus his energies on driving. He could not respond to Will’s advances, not now with meat in the car and Abigail in the back seat. He could not push Will’s head down to his lap. He could not pull over and bend the younger man over the trunk. No.

The hand refused to stop. By the time Hannibal parked the car in his garage, both men were ragged with arousal and tense as a bowstring.

Abigail took out her headphones. “Thank God I’m an adult,” she grumbled. “No child should be exposed to you two. I’ll be in my room with my headphones on. Have fun.”

She popped the trunk, took out several bags, and went into the house.

“Oops,” Will grinned unapologetically. 

“You are incorrigible,” Hannibal replied, rolling his eyes. “Help me put the food away.”

“So it’s ‘food’ now?” Will teased. “And where exactly does that delineation lie? Come to think of it, I can name some other interesting human body parts I wouldn’t mind swallowing.”

Hannibal sent Will a Look, hiding his arousal under amused disdain. “And you say _I’m_ bad with puns.”

Will huffed dramatically, too high on lust and adrenaline to be embarrassed. The men unloaded the bags, which were still warm, and carried them into the kitchen to be frozen. Hannibal kept his freezer very organized, so it took a couple of moments to put everything away, but he was grateful for the chill of the freezer. It help cool him down a little, clear his head.

“Come on,” Will wheedled, “bedroom time.”

“What makes you think taking this to the bedroom is at all necessary?” Hannibal grinned viciously, stalking toward the younger man with the grace of a jaguar. “Abigail is in her room, oblivious to the world. You and I have a large room full of flat surfaces at our disposal, and—”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. Will had marched over and was currently taking the air from Hannibal’s lungs. Will’s kisses tended to do that to him. The profiler kissed with such hunger, such desperation, that Hannibal couldn’t _not_ be swept away in it all. Will’s empathy leaked into Hannibal through their lips, and Hannibal found that he wanted to feel that passion, that fire, for the rest of his life. He wanted Will. Forever.

Hannibal broke away, mind awash with desire and—dare he say it?—love. “Will,” he gasped, “Will. I want, I want—“ He groaned, unable to finish the sentence. Will’s unoccupied mouth had found eager work sucking bruises onto Hannibal’s neck while his hands were loosening Hannibal’s tie. The hands unbuttoned his shirt next, Will pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line of skin he revealed. Will nuzzled into the line of hair on Hannibal’s stomach, causing the older man to drop his hands to Will’s head in appreciation. 

“What were you saying?” Will mumbled into the buckle of Hannibal’s trousers, trying as hard as he could to open the button with his teeth.

Hannibal focused on Will’s words, finally remembering what he had been trying to say. “Will, I want you to fuck me, tonight." 

Will stopped, standing up in shock. “What?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Hannibal repeated. “I want to know what you feel when we have sex." 

“But… but why?” Will asked helplessly. He fidgeted with the cuffs of his sleeves self-consciously. “Do you not want to have me?”

“Oh Will, my sweet Will, of course I want you,” Hannibal soothed.

“Then _why_?” Will implored. “I need to understand.”

“I never thought it possible,” Hannibal wondered aloud. “People like me, psychopaths and our ilk, we do not feel emotions the way normal people do. I certainly can never feel anything the way you feel it. My life, up to this point, has been a game of survival, a test of how far I can push humanity before it pushed back.

“You, Will, you are my push. Along with Abigail, you have forced me to consider life beyond myself. I care what happens to you, both of you. We have a family here, William, a trio of personalities bound by emotions to which I should not be able to contribute. But I am contributing, Will, I am.”

“What are you saying?” Will asked, his voice measured.

“I am saying that I love you, William Graham. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” Hannibal declared. “I love you and I want you to make love to me.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Will breathed. He moved to Hannibal in one large step and embraced him. Hannibal sighed into the hug, wrapping his arms around Will, his _lover_ , tightly. Will leaned back, eyes glistening in the low light of the kitchen. “But I want to do it in your bedroom.”

Hannibal and Will made their way up the stairs, enjoying the comfortable silence of being in love. Will pushed Hannibal onto the bed, the older man’s open shirt gaping around him, and kissed him lightly.

“I love you so much, Hannibal,” Will confided. “I’ve loved you forever. I assumed you could never love me back, and I waited for the day when you would tire of me and kill me off. I thought our relationship was a time bomb.

“But I didn’t care, Hannibal, I didn’t,” Will insisted, “I would take whatever you gave me for as long as you gave it. I’ve finally found happiness through you. The least I could offer you in return was my life.”

“Will, my love,” Hannibal sighed, caressing his face, “I am so sorry I kept you with such feelings for so long. I could never kill you, not without killing myself immediately afterwards, and I don’t plan on committing suicide anytime soon.”

Will couldn’t speak, so overcome was he with the power behind Hannibal’s confession. He chose instead to kiss Hannibal, and the older man could feel everything he was trying to say through his kiss. _Forever,_ the kiss said, _you and me and Abigail. Forever. No matter what_.

Hannibal undressed Will carefully, fingertips grazing over skin that seemed new now that it was loved explicitly. Will moved over him, ridding Hannibal of his pants and boxers. 

“You’re sure?” Will whispered. “Last chance.”

“My last chance faded away the moment you forbad me from psychoanalyzing you,” Hannibal answered fondly. “Yes, I’m sure.”

Will left Hannibal to get the lubricant from the nightstand. When he returned, he leaned over Hannibal, a quiet confidence hardening his eyes.

“Put a pillow under your hips,” he ordered. Hannibal moved to follow his command, turned on by watching Will take charge. This was the Will that killed earlier tonight. This was the Will that dreamed of taking the killer’s place in his recreations. This was the Will that Hannibal could relate to. That was comforting just as much as it was exhilarating.

Will kissed his way down Hannibal’s torso, detouring to suck each brown nipple into his mouth. Hannibal arched slightly, pushing his chest into Will’s mouth. It felt good to be on the receiving end of the attention, he realized. Will’s journey halted again at Hannibal’s belly button, which was licked and laved until the older man was gasping with want.

Finally, thankfully, Will reached Hannibal’s now straining erection, sucking it into his mouth. Hannibal jolted up in pleasure, the stimulus overpowering. It was also distracting, apparently, because Will had thrust a finger inside of Hannibal while his attention was on the mouth on his cock. 

Having a finger inside his ass was peculiar, Hannibal thought. Not bad, not particularly good, just _peculiar_. There had to be something Will found enjoyable, however, so Hannibal allowed the discomfort to fall to the wayside.

Will bobbed his head on Hannibal’s cock, taking him all the way in on every other stroke. It felt amazing, as Will’s blowjobs always did, and it kept his mind off of the digit moving in and out of Hannibal, opening him enough for another finger.

The second finger was more uncomfortable than the first, the sensation just bordering on pain. Hannibal had experienced far greater pain, but never before had it thrilled him with such a sense of anticipation. Hannibal wanted more of the feeling, odd as it was, and he wanted it sooner rather than later. Will seemed to understand Hannibal’s desire, because the fingers were moving inside him, prodding and poking and _ohh._

So that’s what prostate stimulation felt like. That was _good_. That was _very_ good. That was—that was happening again, and it was even better than it was the first time.

Will scissored the fingers inside Hannibal, stretching the walls of muscle with delicate movements. Every once in a while, Will would thrust several times down onto Hannibal’s prostate, sending the man reeling into wave after wave of indescribable pleasure.

Will’s third finger felt like an unwelcome guest at an otherwise delightful party, in Hannibal’s opinion; the addition of it provided a sharp burn that immediately drew  away his pleasure from moments earlier. Will’s mouth left Hannibal’s erection to offer soothing words.

“You’re doing magnificently, Hannibal,” Will praised. “My God, you have no idea what you do to me, open and pliant like this. You’re so beautiful. This is the worst part, I promise. Just get through the next few seconds.”

Hannibal did as he was told, trusting the younger man’s expertise. He relaxed as best he could and bore down on the fingers, which made their entrance easier. Will thrust the fingers into him slowly, centimeter by centimeter. Each thrust was painful, but they also grew more and more pleasant. It felt good, being filled, and Hannibal mourned the loss when the fingers abruptly left him.

“Are you ready?” Will asked, his voice a deep growl. It was a tone Hannibal had never heard before, but he made note to get Will to use it as often as possible. 

“I am as ready as I will ever be,” he responded. It was true: Hannibal sincerely wanted to feel Will’s cock inside of him, bigger and longer than his fingers and infinitely more intimate.

Will lubed up his erection, pausing for a moment at Hannibal’s entrance. “You are so fucking amazing, Hannibal,” he breathed. 

And then he was pushing in, and he had lied: _this_ was the worst part. Will’s cock felt like it was splitting him open from the inside out. Was this what it felt like when he fucked Will? Hannibal hoped not.

Will continued in until he bottomed out, his body completely flush with Hannibal’s. He kissed the older man, the subtle shift of flesh grazing Hannibal’s prostate and making him gasp. 

“Move, Will,” Hannibal ordered.

“You gotta give me a moment,” Will mumbled from where his head was resting in the crook of Hannibal’s neck. “This is far more intense than I thought it would be. You’re so _tight_.” Hannibal flexed his inner muscles involuntarily at the praise, making Will whimper into his collarbone.

They began moving slowly, cautiously, both virgins to this particular tangle of limbs. Soon the pain blended with pleasure, and Hannibal could see what Will enjoyed so much about sex. The slow drag of Will’s cock was heady and consuming inside him, and Hannibal appreciated the vulnerability of his position. Will, for his part, was nearly incoherent in his ecstasy, soft whispers of “ _so tight_ ” and “ _so good_ ” reaching Hannibal’s ears every few minutes.

The tension built between the two men, and Will’s strokes deepened, hardened, now moving purposefully inside Hannibal. Will slammed into Hannibal’s prostate and the older man cried out, now beyond decorum and dignity, fingers digging into Will’s hips. A vicious grin—the same one from earlier, when Will sliced into that woman’s neck—flashed across Will’s face, and he readjusted his body to hit Hannibal’s prostate on every thrust.

Now the pressure in Hannibal’s stomach wasn’t just climbing, it was skyrocketing. Every inward push of Will’s hips was a tidal wave to Hannibal’s senses, and every withdrawal felt like the metaphorical ocean of lust was rearing up, preparing to crash onto the shoreline of Hannibal’s control once more. He wasn’t even aware of his body any more, so enthralled was he with the play of endorphins and oxytocin in his system. He heard from a distance someone calling Will’s name repeatedly, devotedly, and it took his several moments that the voice belonged to himself.

Will moaned brokenly, his body shaking with the effort of staving off his orgasm. Hannibal clenched in realization, causing Will to cry out in protest.

“Come for me, Will,” Hannibal murmured. “I want to see you come.”

Will sobbed, thrusting hard into Hannibal and coming, a look of utter agony tightening his features. Hannibal felt Will emptying inside him—he could _feel the semen entering his body_ —and he fell into his orgasm, Will’s seed a mark of possession that Hannibal had never realized he needed so desperately. The world vortexed, every stimulus a contribution to the funnel of suction currently vacuuming cognizance from Hannibal’s existence.

When he came back to himself enough to take in his surroundings, Hannibal first noticed the heavy heat of Will sprawled out on his body. He opened his eyes and looked down at the younger man, only to find Will watching him back, head supported on his hand as he smiled widely. He looked like the cat that got the cream.

Even though Hannibal was the one to get the ‘cream,’ in this case. Hannibal smirked inwardly, running his hands down Will’s back. A subtle shift of the hips revealed that Will was still inside him, soft but unwilling to leave. Will’s face contorted in overstimulation, finally pulling out of Hannibal. The change was unpleasant and empty-feeling.

Hannibal felt a warm trickle run down his backside, and realized that Will’s come was leaking out of him. He felt simultaneously disgusted and mournful; Hannibal hated feeling Will’s essence leaving him, and he hated himself for feeling so romantic.

Will kissed Hannibal’s cheek. “I’ll be right back,” he promised, eyes wicked. He moved down Hannibal’s body. What was he— _oh, yes_.

Will was licking at Hannibal, cleaning up the trickle of fluid and following it back to-- _God_ , why had he never considered doing this to Will? This was _glorious_. Hannibal wished he could appreciate it fully, without the sleepy haze of post-coitus.

Will's tongue lapped its way into Hannibal, sucking lightly to pull out whatever liquid remained. Oh, how Hannibal wished the sensation was not tinged with the discomfort of overstimulation.

Will crawled back up Hannibal, tucking himself into the older man’s shoulder.

“You’re kind of perfect, you know that?” he sighed, wrapping an arm around Hannibal’s torso.

“I can point out several things that would suggest otherwise,” Hannibal replied dryly, too tired and blissed out to list them.

Will snorted and burrowed deeper into Hannibal’s arms. Within seconds, his breathing evened out.

“But you’re kind of perfect, too,” Hannibal whispered back. He curled around Will and fell asleep, dreaming of their long, happy lives together.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fluff fluff fluff fluff. Fluff. But uughhhh I love it so much. Too much. I promise to get back to rough-and-tumble fics. Eventually. ;)
> 
> As always, my fics are unbeta'd (although RevD worked her magic on this one! :D), so please review if you see any mistakes. Thanks for reading!


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